


hold me up (tie me down)

by returnsandreturns



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Bondage, Light Bondage, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Platonic Relationships, Quiet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 17:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9502718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/returnsandreturns/pseuds/returnsandreturns
Summary: “What are you doing?” Matt asks, sounding impatient but looking curious despite himself.“I’m gonna try something,” Foggy says. “I just need you to let me finish it and then I’ll let you go if you don’t like it.”“That’s—vague,” Matt says.“Hold onto the arm rests,” Foggy says, in lieu of replying, “and spread your legs.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> platonic! bondage! fic!

“Claire _walked_ me here,” Matt says, when Foggy opens his door.

“I know,” Foggy says, amused. “She called me.”

“I don’t like that you two are—planning things,” Matt says, sounding huffy and walking past him. It would be cute if there wasn’t blood on Matt’s t-shirt and if that t-shirt wasn’t actually Foggy’s.

“I’m just supposed to keep you from fighting with potentially life-threatening injuries,” Foggy says. “I’m not all that excited about it, honestly.”

“Good,” Matt says. “Then I can leave and finish what I started, I still need to—”

Matt headed towards Foggy’s fire escape when Foggy grabs his arm.

“Nope,” he says. “Claire is a goddess and I refuse to disappoint her.”

“So you’re doing it for her?” Matt asks.

“And also so you don’t die,” Foggy says. “Have a seat.”

“I’ll be back in an hour tops,” Matt says, trying to pull away, making a frustrated noise when Foggy tugs his arm to keep him there than backs Matt up against a wall—careful of the blood-stained part of Matt’s side. Matt’s breath catches, going still at Foggy’s touch.

After a few moments, Matt shoves against him with a shoulder, not hard enough to push Foggy away or hurt him. Foggy’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually want to get away at all; he can’t stop thinking about how Matt would just change in college when Foggy would jokingly collapse on top of him, pinning him down. How he’d laugh and shove before his face would go slack, kind of sweet—how he never told Foggy to move or tried to get away or said much of anything.

Foggy always thought about kissing him, then, feeling if Matt’s lips feel as soft as they look so close up, but that was awhile ago. It gives him an idea now, though, pushing aside the idea of shoving Matt against the wall hard and kissing him to see what happens for something—arguably weirder.

“Give me five minutes,” he says, firmly. “Don’t leave.”

Matt sighs.

“Fine,” he says. “Five minutes.”

He’s sitting in Foggy’s favorite chair, the one he dragged from his old apartment because he couldn’t bear to part with it, when Foggy comes back after rifling through his closet and finding the restraints that he has stowed away from a week long relationship that consisted mostly of him being tied to a bed the whole time and, also, having his wallet stolen.

“What are you doing?” Matt asks, sounding impatient but looking curious despite himself.

“I’m gonna try something,” Foggy says. “I just need you to let me finish it and then I’ll let you go if you don’t like it.”

“That’s—vague,” Matt says.

“Hold onto the arm rests,” Foggy says, in lieu of replying, “and spread your legs.”

Matt’s face is skeptical, but he does what he’s told immediately. It’s almost too dark, but Foggy’s pretty sure that Matt’s blushing.

When he wraps the first cuff—vinyl but soft on the inside, pulled tight and closed with Velcro—around Matt’s wrist, Matt’s breath cuts off.

“What is that?” he asks.

“Do you trust me?” Foggy asks. He doesn’t really want to know the answer to that. Matt hasn’t trusted him with a lot of things, but maybe this—maybe _them_.

“Yeah,” Matt says, softly.

“Let me finish,” Foggy says, rubbing a hand gently on Matt’s shoulder, “and we’ll talk.”

Matt nods and stays silent as Foggy puts the other cuff on him, then one on each ankle and straps connecting both of them and wrapping around the chair so Matt can barely move when he tries. He’s about to say something when Foggy presses his palm to Matt’s stomach.

“Take a deep breath, Matty,” he says, and Matt does without hesitation, stomach rising and falling under Foggy’s hand as he exhales with a shaky breath. He has Matt do it one more time while he wraps a strap around Matt’s waist and connects it behind the chair, tight enough to feel but not too restrictive.

He steps back to survey his work and is met with a conflicted look from Matt.

“Five more minutes, okay?” Foggy asks, and Matt just nods again, taking a deep breath on his own. Foggy thinks about leaving the room, but, instead, he sits on the coffee table in front of Matt and reaches out to squeeze Matt’s knee then leave his hand there, fingers stroking lightly. He lets Matt squirm and test the hold without saying anything, but after a few moments, he sinks into the chair and goes still.

Ten minutes pass by before Matt seems to stir out of wherever he went when he tipped his head back and shut his eyes. When he makes a soft noise, moving as much as he can before he settles into the restraints again, Foggy asks, “How do you feel?”

Matt shrugs his shoulders, then, after Foggy stays silent, “Confused. Not—not bad.”

“You want to stay like this,” Foggy asks, “or do you want to go pull your stitches and bleed out on a sidewalk somewhere.”

Matt’s laugh might’ve been harsh if it wasn’t so breathy.

“I could stay,” he says, tipping his head back again.

Foggy goes about his nightly routine, cleaning up their dishes and tidying the kitchen, getting his clothes ready for the next day and brushing his teeth. He lays out blankets and pillows for Matt on the sofa before he even asks him if he’s spending the night.

Matt’s not asleep, even though his face is so calm that Foggy has to speak to him quietly to see if he’s still comfortable.

“Can I?” Matt asks.

“Of course,” Foggy says. He lets Matt out of the restraints, steps back so Matt can stand up and stretch, absolutely not watching him stretch.

“Could you—do that for me again? While I sleep?” Matt asks, after sighing deeply.

“No, you’ll regret it in the morning,” Foggy says. “Stiff limbs, cramps. How will you run away to cause yourself more physical damage?”

Matt kind of smirks at him but doesn’t say anything else, just moves hesitantly forward until Foggy moves first, pulls him into a quick hug before he says good night and lingers just long enough to watch Matt find his way to the couch and pull his shirt off to reveal the angry red gash offset by dark stitches against his side.

There’s something to be said for the fact that this isn’t the weirdest night of their friendship, but Foggy just goes to bed himself, trying not to think about Matt alone in the next room.

*

Curiously, he calls the girl he bought the restraints for the next day—Sara. They ended on okay terms, deciding Foggy wasn’t particularly into being tied up and Sara wasn’t particularly into romance so it was probably better to leave it where it was. She answers quickly, says, “Hey, long time no see.”

“I figured you were busy breaking hearts all over the city,” Foggy says, smiling.

“It’s my thing,” she says. “Not that we can’t just talk, but do you need something?”

“Uh—advice,” Foggy says. “Bondage advice.”

“Ooh,” she says, brightly. “I’m listening.”

He lays out the basic situation of what happened last night, what he think might happen again—asks her if that’s something that people even do outside of sex.

“It’s not something _I_ do outside of sex,” she says, “but I can see how it would be therapeutic. I don’t think there’s any harm in it if both of you have your heads on straight.”

“I—that’s—maybe not true for him,” Foggy says, which is maybe unfair and maybe he’s giving himself too much credit, but he worries about exactly how far Matt could go in basically every situation in his life. He doesn’t want his time with Matt to be one of those situations.

“Hmm,” Sara says, softly. “You think it’s good for him, though?”

“Yeah,” Foggy says, after a beat. “He liked it, at least. And I think he needs to calm down, like—500% more at all times.”

Sara laughs.

“Okay, don’t take this advice as sacrosanct,” she says, “because you’re wandering territory I’m unfamiliar with, but I think if you both lay down why you’re there and you in particular are _very_ careful with your friend—like checking in consistently and staying with him after it’s over to make sure he comes out of it okay—then. . .you should be fine.”

“Okay,” Foggy says, already thinking about the next time. “Okay, I can do that.”

“And you’re sure you don’t want to sleep with each other?” she asks, a little sly.

“. . .yeah,” Foggy says, too slowly.

*

Matt asks for it next time, before Foggy even gets a chance to talk to him about it. He calls Foggy in the middle of the night and _asks_ for it, voice panicky and breath coming too quick, and Foggy’s shoving the restraints in his mostly forgotten gym bag and headed out the door before he even hangs up.

Matt’s pacing the floor when Foggy lets himself in, fingers tangled uncomfortably tight together in front of him, not even stopping when he says, “Sorry—I didn’t know it was this late, I shouldn’t have—”

“Hey, no,” Foggy says. “It’s cool. Sit down, okay?”

Matt hesitates, face screwed up a little, but his eyes go wide and it smooths out when Foggy repeats, not a question this time, “Sit down, Matt.”

“Yeah,” Matt murmurs, immediately turning to sit down in one of his armchairs, automatically positioning himself like was the other night.

“Good,” Foggy says, softly, smoothing a hand over Matt’s hair. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?”

Matt shakes his head immediately, which—fair enough.

“That’s okay,” Foggy says. “Just sit still.”

He puts the restraints on carefully, lets his fingers trace over them, tugging to make sure they’re not too tight. He notices a few minutes in that Matt’s hard, straining against his jeans, but he’s not sure that Matt notices—he already looks loose and softly pleased.

“Thanks,” he says, barely audible, when Foggy steps away.

“We’re going to have to talk about this later,” Foggy says. “Tomorrow, okay?”

Matt’s silent but he nods eventually.

Foggy steals Matt’s laptop from the coffee table and sprawls out on his couch. He fucks around and watches movies on Netflix for a few hours, drifting in and out of sleep until he realizes that the sun’s coming up and Matt’s still awake, eyes shut but breathing deep and purposeful.

“Hey,” he says, hoarsely, sitting up and setting the laptop aside.

“Hmm?” Matt asks. He doesn’t open his eyes, but he lifts his head up more as Foggy stands up to come closer and drop a hand on his shoulder.

“You didn’t sleep?” he asks.

“You—” Matt sounds like he’s having a hard time speaking, but eventually he mumbles out, “You told me not to. The other day.”

“Oh,” Foggy says. He lets his fingers run up Matt’s neck lightly, watching as he shivers then tilts his head into the touch when Foggy strokes his hair, lips parted and damp. “Good. You did really good, Matty. I’m going to let you out, now, so you can get some sleep.”

Matt stays still as Foggy takes the straps off of him, standing up slowly after Foggy steps away to give him room. He smiles at him, hair messed up from Foggy’s fingers, looking sleepy and satisfied and it makes Foggy want to hold him close and not let go for a few hours.

Instead, he lies back down on Matt’s couch once he disappears into the bedroom to catch a few more hours, sleeping restlessly.

*

Matt makes breakfast the next morning, great omelets that he used to make when they lived together in law school with whatever they had in their cramped kitchen. They eat silently for awhile before Foggy says, finally, “You like this, right? What happened last night?”

Matt’s eyes aim somewhere near his shoulder when he says, “I do.”

“I—like helping you,” Foggy says.

Matt’s smile is quick, barely there before it’s gone again as he nods.

Foggy continues when Matt doesn’t say anything, talks about setting guidelines, hard and fast rules that they have to try not to break. Foggy has to stay with him. Matt has to tell him if he wants out and ask him for it to begin with. Foggy will only tie him down to chairs, not beds.

Matt doesn’t say a word after Foggy offers that rule, just goes pink and nods.

“Anything you want to add?” Foggy asks, kicking him under the table.

“I, uh,” Matt says, carefully. “I want you to tell me if you think I need it—I have to agree, but you might be—better at noticing, sometimes.”

Foggy feels warm, suddenly.

“Sure,” he says. “I’ll do that.”

They leave it at that; there’s more to talk about, but Foggy was sure that doing this with Matt would be like pulling teeth, but he was surprisingly willing. He might as well not make him suffer anymore.

Foggy leaves later that morning, and Matt hugs him at the door, says, “Thanks again,” kind of roughly.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Foggy says.

“I want to, though,” Matt says. A hint of a smile and then he’s stepping back to let Foggy leave, not saying a word about Foggy’s heart pounding somewhere near his throat.

*

It happens once or twice a week. Foggy checking in, Matt calling him, Matt showing up at his door or his window—and Foggy being there and Matt being there and it’s _good_. It’s probably too much that just being in the same room with Matt is enough for him, but it is.

It’s never involved another injury until Matt drags himself up Foggy’s stairs with a couple of broken ribs, proven to be broken by Foggy’s touching him carefully, fingers roaming under Matt’s shirt until Matt cries out and Foggy says, “Yep, broken.”

Foggy texts Claire about it and gets a response a few minutes later, _keep the idiot still_ and _there in a few_. Matt won’t stop walking, though, opening Foggy’s window to listen before he crosses the room then back again and again.

“You at least need to stop moving for long enough to get some pain medication or you’re gonna puncture a lung or something,” Foggy says. “I can strap you down if you don’t mind Claire seeing.”

Matt’s quiet for a moment, switching feet, hands twitching where they’re laced together in front of him.

“Okay,” he says, nodding. “I don’t think I can—stop on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” Foggy says. “Here, let me—”

He steps forward to help Matt out of his jacket, looking him over for a second before he opens his belt, too, carefully unzipping his pants and ignoring the way that Matt’s dick twitches in his boxers. Matt’s cheeks are flushed red, but he doesn’t look offended, and he steps out of them willingly.

“Have a seat,” Foggy says, smoothing a hand down Matt’s arm.

Matt shuts his eyes as he sits down in the chair, sighing softly, immediately curling his fingers around the end of each arm rest.

Foggy crosses the room to get the cuffs where he left them on a side table, saying, as he moves back to Matt’s side, “You know, I could do this on my bed. I know we agreed not to, but—or, I mean, I could tie you to the toilet. Whatever works.”

Matt huffs out a laugh.

“Claire’s seen me in worse positions,” he says. “You’ll have to do the talking, though.”

“I can handle that,” Foggy says.

He reads aloud while they wait for Claire from a book he picked up at the library that he thought Matt might like. They’re halfway through it, and Foggy’s not sure if Matt even hears most of it, but it gives him something to do and Matt always asks for it.

He’s near the end of a chapter when there’s a knock on the door. He lets Claire in and she walks in then stops, laughing softly.

“Well,” Claire says. “This is interesting.”

Matt’s head lifts, moves vaguely towards her, but he still looks half-asleep.

“Why am I surprised he likes to be tied up?” she asks, walking across the room towards Foggy and handing him a paper bag.

“It’s not a sex thing,” he says, opening it to see pills in a small plastic bag and a small box of cookies. “It’s kind of like when you swaddle a baby to calm them down.”

“Not a baby,” Matt murmurs, just barely frowning, pulling against the cuffs before he sighs sleepily and settles down in them again.

“Pain pills for the hero,” she says. “Cookies for you, because I’m the real hero, here. You sure it’s not a sex thing? Because Matt—certainly _looks_ like he’s into it.”

“It’s complicated,” Foggy says. Matt doesn’t even seem to notice that they’re still talking, turning his head to rub his cheek against the soft leather of the chair, smiling faintly. “He looks happy, doesn’t he?”

“I’ve actually never seen him look happy,” Claire says, “but this might be it.”

When she passes by Matt to leave, she ruffles his hair and Matt makes a pleased noise, smiles up at her.

“Do what this guy tells you to do, okay?” she says.

Matt nods and echoes, “Okay.”

Claire shoots Foggy a look before she walks out, somewhere between amused and maybe a warning. It’s fair enough. Matt’s crazy submissive, sweet and dazed and open, when he’s tied down and safe; someone could abuse that trust so easily. Foggy won’t be that person.

When he pulls up the other chair to sit next to Matt, Matt tilts his head to smile at him.

“Thanks,” he murmurs. “For this.”

“Any time,” Foggy says, reaching up to touch Matt’s cheek, gently. “You gonna fight me on taking this medication?”

Matt makes a face, a real cute one—wrinkled noise and furrowed eyebrows—but after a moment he says, “I’ll take ‘em if you’ll stay with me.”

“Joke’s on you,” Foggy says, smiling. “Because I was staying with you no matter what.”

That night, when Matt’s even more out of it, he wanders into Foggy’s bedroom with the blankets and pillows that Foggy put out for him on the sofa, ignoring Foggy when he asks, “What’s up?” and curling up on the floor beside the bed.

Foggy stays awake until Matt falls asleep again, snoring lightly below him.

*

A few weeks later, Foggy’s got Matt sitting down, about to tie him down when Matt reaches up to slide fingers into his hair and tugs gently to bring Foggy towards him.

“Kiss me first?” Matt asks, softly, like he can’t just kiss Foggy himself. Like he needs permission. Maybe he does.

“Why?” Foggy asks, carefully, and Matt smiles up at him.

“Because you want to,” he says, “and I—never noticed before now how much I want it, too. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“You wanting to kiss me?” Foggy asks.

 “You _steady_ me,” Matt says, fingers tracing over Foggy’s cheek before he cups it and says. “Nobody else does that. It’s always been you.”

“. . .are you sure you don’t just want me to tie you onto the bed?” Foggy asks, weakly, and Matt laughs.

“Not yet,” he says, almost shy, “but we can talk about it. If you want me.”

It’s so _simple_.

“We can talk about it,” Foggy says, leaning down to kiss Matt’s forehead. “Put your hands where they belong, first. I want you to really think about it before I kiss you.”

Matt moves into position willingly but he says, firm, “I know what I want.”

“I believe you,” Foggy says, because he does, because Matt looks happy every time Foggy touches him, lately. “I’ll kiss you when I let you out later. How’s that?”

“Good,” Matt says, grinning lazily, shutting his eyes. “Really good.”

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes claire has to babysit and it's weird and tense but foggy likes the way that matt's kind of worked up afterwards
> 
> so
> 
> i'm on [tumblr](returnsandreturns.tumblr.com)


End file.
